"ISN'T IT BORING?"

Four ladies in the vicinity of “a certain age” recently met up after more than a few decades at Mac’s Time Out Lounge in downtown Alton. Too late for lunch, too early for cocktail hour; and Mac’s is not known for its afternoon teas. It’s a sports bar where folks gather to watch (and bet on) the Kentucky Derby and down brews like Boulevard, Blue Moon and Schlafly’s Hefewizen in a sheltered beer garden. You’re likely to see someone you know if you’re from Alton. It isn’t Cheers, but it’s cozy.

The four ladies were from Alton once upon a time, but all had moved away ages ago. One had recently returned. That would be me, who suggested Mac’s, a local institution now but not around when we were growing up. One childhood friend, transplanted to Colorado Springs, was in town for 36 hours visiting family. The second has retired in St. Charles, a St. Louis suburb across the river. The fourth lives near Springfield, the Illinois state capital, in Jacksonville (pop. 19,445).

They accosted me with the same question friends in New York, Miami and Paris ask: Isn’t it boring here? Not at all. This blog was derailed last summer not because there was nothing to write about, but because there was too much to do. Who had time for reflection?

Even friends and family here were surprised at how crowded my calendar has become in a town of 27,781, not counting the 17,982 souls who live in the Alton “suburb” of Godfrey. But rather than returning home, I arrived as a tourist, looking through new eyes. It has been amazing. I tend to gush when I try to explain. 

But what happens when I no longer feel like a tourist?

WHAT'S TO EAT?

This isn't the first time I've transplanted myself from a world capital to a small town in the Midwest. I once moved from Paris (France, not Texas) to Columbia, MO. My mother-in-law, an eastern-seaboard type who loved visiting us in Paris, shook her head and ask, "But what will you eat there?" She had a point. But that was before the culinary world grew flat, and the Internet delivered most anything to the door most anywhere.

While I have had to spell chut-ney to a Walmart clerk who thought maybe we could find it in the jam aisle, I am not going without much since my move. If desperate for something like Irish butter, I can drive 40 minutes to St. Louis where Whole Foods and Trader Joe's are within a couple of blocks of each other.

Staples of my kitchen like hummus, feta, arugula, sun-dried tomatoes, smoked salmon, pita, Cholula hot sauce, Kikkoman soy sauce and fresh ginger are on the shelves of the local Schnuck's,  a family-owned grocery chain founded just across the river in north St. Louis in 1939. But I can't find Kavli crispbread that I used to buy at Fairway in New York City and Quik-Chek in Miami or Genova solid light tuna in olive oil that I found at Costco in Miami and New York and also Fairway.  Worse, I have found no acceptable substitutes here.

So last weekend I flew to Manhattan to grocery shop. That makes for some pricey crispbread and tuna fish salad. When I got back, I went on line and found a new grocer -- Amazon.

I can get the crispbreads in a pack of 12 for $22.51 and the tuna -- which turns out to be a Chicken of the Sea product -- in a pack of 24 for $50.34. No shipping charges because my student status at the local junior college made me eligible for Prime shipping. It ends up being considerably cheaper per item than what I've paid in brick-and-mortar stores.

But I'm still giving Schnuck's a chance to keep me as a customer. Paul, the co-manager, is checking into availability after I dropped off an empty tuna can and a crispbread box. No need to stockpile if I can buy locally.